Page 75 of Crossed
She’s all fine lines and tailored edges. The priest in me approves.
It’s a perfectly respectable outfit to grace the halls of this church.
It infuriates me.
I want my wild and free Amaya.
“I see Parker wasted no time in dressing up his new doll,” I sneer.
She glares at me, closing the door and shaking her head. “You must be the worst priest in the history of the Catholic church.”
I move forward until I’m centimeters away, and she falls back, pressing her hands against the wall. I stop myself just before I touch her, lifting my arms on either side of her head, caging her in. Dipping down, my nose runs along the expanse of her neck, breathing in the warmth of her skin. “Oh, petite pécheresse. Who ever said I was good?”
She gasps, and I back up quickly, sharp pain bleeding down my back from the sudden movement.
“I think we need to set some boundaries,” she finally says. “You can start by apologizing.”
Chuckling, I run a hand down my face. “For? I’ve done nothing except be weak foryou.”
Her mouth drops open. “So this ismyfault?”
I lift my arms to the sides. “It’s surely not mine.”
She nods slowly. “Okay.”
Her body goes still, and she mutters something under her breath.
My heart slams against my chest, and I straighten. “What are you doing?”
She peeks out of her left eye before closing it again. “Shh. I’m working.”
The hairs raise on my arms, and the rumors of the town whisper in the back of my mind.
She’s a witch.
Hexing everyone she meets.
Panic makes my throat swell.
“Stop it,” I demand.
She opens her eyes and walks close, inspecting me from head to toe. “Did it work?”
“Didwhatwork, you infuriating woman?” “Do you feel any different?” she presses.
I’m lurching forward and gripping her arms tightly before I can stop myself. “You cast a spell on me?”
She laughs, throwing her head back, molding her body to me from her chest to her hips.
“JesusChrist,” she says. “You’re just as bad as the rest of the town. Word of advice,Father.Don’t let superstition rule your life. It might end up killing you.”
Scowling, I release her, stepping back and running a hand through my already disheveled hair. “Donotcurse in my presence.” “I’ll do what I want,” she bites back.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes, the temper
I’ve dealt with my entire life bleating against my insides like a battering ram. When I open them again, I see hurt flash across Amaya’s face.
And seeing the pain there, even as fleeting as it is, drains away the anger until it’s barely there, whispering in the background.
